


In Pieces

by sinemoras09



Category: Naruto
Genre: Angst, Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-03
Updated: 2012-03-03
Packaged: 2017-11-01 01:54:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/350679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinemoras09/pseuds/sinemoras09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The complete sexual history of Uchiha Itachi. Itachi/Shisui. Itachi/others. Angst. Warnings for character death and adult themes. Spoilers for chapter 402.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Pieces

_"I am not equal to my longing._  
Somewhere there should be a place  
the exact shape of my emptiness.  
The river of course has no mercy.  
It just lifts the dead fish  
toward the sea." - Jane Mead 

 

**Anonymous, Kirigakure**

 

He is six years old, and yet he knows what it means to go to war.

His lip is cracked; dried blood flakes off at the corners of his mouth. Wordlessly, his father steps close, then drops a heavy hand on Itachi's shoulder. 

"Do not cry," his father says. "It is over. Do you understand?"

Itachi nods, small hands clutching a kunai to his chest. He had been captured during a midnight raid; he along with a handful of civilians had been taken, children and women meant as spoils of war. Just moments earlier, he had seen his father skin the other man alive; large hands broke the enemy's neck with one swift twist, the sickening sound of bones snapping ringing in Itachi's ears. "What did he do to you?" his father had asked, and at that time Itachi couldn't speak, couldn't form the words that seemed stuck in his throat. Fugaku's jaw tightened then, and he stared out at the horizen, eyes narrowing against the orange glare. 

_The man is strong and Itachi squirms, he squirms and cries and pushes against his arms, but the man is older and stronger and Itachi doesn't like it, doesn't like it when the man's large hands take hold of him and shows him what it means to be weak._

Sharingan eyes spin; there is nothing. Itachi looks up, tear-streaked face searching his father's eyes.

 

*****

 

He trains. He pushes himself to be better. Stronger. He pushes himself because he doesn't want to be weak.

His father watches, stone-faced and silent, because even if he doesn't say it, Itachi knows that's what he's thinking, too.

 

*****

 

**Uchiha Shisui, Konoha**

Uchiha Shisui has a game: whoever skips the most stones on the water wins. 

"Wins what?" Itachi asks, and Shisui grins and shakes his head. 

"Who cares, dummy, the point is that you _win_." 

His hair is a tousled mop, and even Itachi knows he is blossoming into something beautiful.

 

*****

 

Shisui has one thing the others do not: at nine years old, he is the only one who doesn't make fun of him, weird little prodigy who wets the bed and wakes up crying in the middle of the night. Even now, years after the incident, Itachi wakes in a cold sweat, the feel of rough hands shoving his face against the mattress. His mother used to cry after that night, and his father stalked in a silent rage, but Itachi learned to swallow everything back. Showing his emotions only hurt everyone else. Some days, he'll stare and suddenly feel the suffocating breath of his captors upon him, and Shisui will glance back and touch him on the arm. "Hey, you okay?" he'll say, and Itachi will nod and smile and Shisui will squeeze his hand. "Well good," Shisui will say, and Itachi will feel safe, he'll feel _safe_ , he'll be with Shisui and he'll feel safe and sheltered from the rest of the world. 

They kiss. A blush spreads on Itachi's face and Shisui grins, pressing a knuckle to Itachi's hair. 

"Stupid, I like you," he says, and Itachi grins and grins and hides his face against Shisui's chin. 

He is his best friend. His only friend. He is his most important person in the entire world.

 

******

 

**Uchiha Madara, Konoha**

"Is it done?" Danzou asks, and Itachi nods, doesn't say a word when the council of elders stand. It is just days after drowning his friend in that shallow pool of water, mere hours since the slaughter of his family and the betrayal of his kin, but Itachi's face betrays no hint of emotion, not the sorrow or fatigue that seem to weigh heavily on his body, which is bowed like a tree after a heavy rain. Wordlessly he sheathes his katana and lets himself disappear outside, and as he turns he keeps his face a perfect stone.

"You did this," Madara says, and his voice prickles Itachi's skin. "You eased the cancer that was rotting the village core. You did this," Madara says, and Itachi closes his eyes. 

Silently, Madara's thumb ghosts across that thin trickle of blood that falls like tears, and smears it across his cheek, bloodless, colorless. Around him the night is dark, and the deep blue waters of the Nakano swirl like blood. Loathing and self-hatred do nothing to quench that desire, the longing, which sits heavily at the seat of his heart. He feels Madara's fingers trace arabesques on his skin; they're cold and gooseflesh rises where he's touched. A delayed reaction. Madara grins, breath fanning over the delicate skin of his neck.

Itachi squeezes his eyes. The dam of Itachi's self-control finally begins to topple, and soon everything inside him comes raging to the surface. This is what he deserves. This violation, the final shred of his innocence cracking inside. 

He doesn't cry. Doesn't move when he feels the slow drag of fabric moving down his skin. His hips are exposed and he feels himself harden under his mentor's touch. Shame and confusion and terrible waves of pleasure hit him all at once, and Itachi pushes up against Madara's hand. He lets himself be gathered up, lets Madara take him and rearrange him like so much firewood, loose limbs and head falling against his chest like a broken doll's. 

"Know this," Madara says, and his voice sends a frisson of disquiet down his spine. "I am what made you. And I am what will make you undone."

 

******

**Kimimaro, Takumi Village**

He tracks Orochimaru through a maze of nameless towns; six days spent hunting the outskirts of a Yugakure spring, another twelve nights searching the footprints outside. The place of his capture lies just beyond his field of sight, a two days' walk just west of the rice paddies growing along the mountain rock. He steps forward, squinting his eyes and returning to the spot.

Ostensibly, Itachi is on a mission: after Orochimaru's defection from the Akatsuki, the Leader had ordered Itachi and Kisame to find him. _"Retribution," the Leader said. "He has stolen our secrets and betrayed our organization; as such, we cannot turn a blind eye."_

_There were precious few times when the Akatsuki's plans and Itachi's private agenda so perfectly align, and Itachi would not let the opportunity slip. Quietly, he turned, and took Kisame aside._

_"He and I have unfinished business," Itachi said. "I would be in your debt if you let me do this alone."_

_Kisame snorted, then scratched his head._

_"He tried to take your fucking body," Kisame said. "I'd want to kill him too."_

Now Itachi pushes himself upright, Sharingan spinning. He can see the size and shape of Orochimaru's hideout, hidden among the grass. He starts to rise when a hand yanks him by the arm.

The man swings, but not before Itachi ducks and spins into a kick. Even now, in the midst of combat, Itachi is surprised; no one has been able to sneak up on him before. "Who are you?" Itachi says, but the man whirls, flash of bone tearing through his skin. His fist cracks against Itachi's skull, but not before Itachi manages a thin genjutsu net over his opponent's body. 

The man staggers forward, then pitches onto the ground.

 

******

 

Itachi sits at the mouth of the cave and watches his opponent quietly. He could have left him for dead, but this chafes against Itachi's sense of honor. Quietly he tosses a few dry branches into the fire, and waits for his opponent to wake up.

The man stirs, and Itachi tenses. Slowly, the man rises, then winces, clutching the bruise on his ribs. 

"Do not strain yourself," Itachi says, and the man glares. "You are injured; were it not for me you would have died."

"What will you do with me?" the man asks. Itachi doesn't look at him.

"Tell me where Orochimaru is; if you do, I will let you go," Itachi says.

The man's mouth presses into a thin line. "I am a dead man," he says, and his eyes flick upward. "I should have died long ago."

Itachi says nothing; he tosses another branch into the fire.

 

******

 

Kimimaro, Itachi learns, is little different from him. 

There is a hint of violence in every movement, in how Kimimaro fists his hair and claws at the clasp of his cloak. Their bodies twine together in the dark, and Itachi is struck by the dichotomy there; pale skin and dark hair, paler skin and hair the color of starched moonlight, the desperate, almost hungry way the other man kisses Itachi's skin. They both know what it is to be alone, but while Kimimaro yearns for tenderness, Itachi knows what it is to give it and brutally tear it away.

They kiss. They suck the air with greedy breaths, grappling and clasping with calloused hands. Itachi lets out a sharp gasp when Kimimaro pushes him flush against the wall of the cave, his knee jammed roughly between them. But there isn't enough. Itachi is as love-starved as Kimimaro is, and he stifles a half-strangled moan as Kimimaro kisses his neck, fisting his cock and dragging his teeth over the tender skin of Itachi's jugular. His hair sticks to his skin and over his eyes, and Itachi pushes a shaking hand toward his forehead protector, which has fallen cockeyed and is threatening to slip over his eye. "Wait," Itachi says. His eyes fall closed at the feel of Kimimaro's tongue, which is tracing a wet line over Itachi's collarbone. "Wait..."

But he doesn't. Kimimaro grips him harder.

No one touches him like this. He thinks of Shisui and _that night_ and the sickening betrayal of it all, and he doesn't want to do this. Doesn't want to feel the other man's hands, which are clasped over his hips and urging him forward, doesn't want to feel the man's hot wet mouth closing around him. Vulnerability smothers him like a thick blanket, and irrationally Itachi's thoughts lurch toward that night in that Kirigakure camp, when he was helpless and oh so small. 

_Forgive me_ , Itachi thinks. _Shisui_. Tears slip. His hands tangle in Kimimaro's hair. 

 

******

 

It is a mistake that continues to haunt him. Months later, after Itachi develops the mysterious cough that leaves him shaking and wracked with pain, he thinks of the Kaguya and the blood sickness that had taken over his body, and grimly he thinks this is fitting punishment, to stay upright and drown in his own blood.

 

*****

 

**Himself, multiple locations**

Uchiha Itachi is not a sexual creature. In fact, it becomes a dirty running joke among the other members of the Akatsuki; pointed sneers among the other, more crude members worm their way to the surface, and occasionally Itachi will catch Deidara grinning at some off-color remark, or Hidan rolling his eyes at some underhanded insult. Itachi, for the most part, does not care; while the others may say he has much the same sexuality as that of a potted plant, it does not bother him. For the most part, they are right.

But what they don't know, and what Itachi does not even admit to himself, is that some nights he'll give into that base part of himself. Some nights, he'll think of Shisui, and how he'd smile and look deep into his eyes, and those times Itachi would spend the night with his hand fisted painfully around his cock, pumping so hard it hurts. It's quick and gritty and when he comes, he comes in thick stripes, semen landing on his bare stomach and chest. His heartbeat will quiet to a dull roar, and the hard sting of his betrayal will push its way upward and makes him feel ashamed. 

Invariably, Kisame will be snoring in the room next door, and Itachi will hear nothing but the soft wheeze of his partner's breath, and the sounds of insects outside.

Those nights are few and far between, and for that Itachi is thankful.

 

*****

 

**Konan, Akatsuki Lair**

He tells himself there is no such thing as love, just the shadows from the moon outside, and the naked revelation of two souls converging in the dark.

She is crying. Itachi is no fool; he has seen the way she looks at the leader, that haunted, hollow look in her eyes. Even without the Sharingan, Itachi is astute enough to realize he reminds her of another lover, perhaps someone lost in the war. He does not bring this up, however; there are certain matters of delicacy that Itachi knows enough not to broach; this would be no exception.

To the others, Itachi is cold, but even he cannot keep up the pretense; he knows what it is to lose the one you love. 

He sits; the mattress sinks heavily with his weight, but Itachi gives Konan a respectful berth. "Are you okay?" he asks, and Konan shakes her head.

"Perhaps I will be, with some time," Konan says, and she lowers her eyes.

 

******

 

She is lonely, but then so is he, letting her take him and guide him to her bed. There is no joy in this, no feeling other than the half-numb reality of skin against skin. Even with his Sharingan closed, he knows she is thinking of someone else. The clock ticks quietly as he pushes himself to an empty and almost agonizing completion, and almost reflexively his mind conjures up another image: that of tousled hair and darkened eyes, flash-stepping white with a lopsided smile. 

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," she says. She doesn't look at him. Itachi says nothing as Konan silently pulls on her robe, wraps it around her shoulders like a shroud. "Itachi--"

"No," Itachi says. "Think nothing of it."

Konan says nothing. The wind stirs, and to Itachi it sounds almost like the fluttering of paper.

 

******

 

**Uchiha Shisui, Konoha**

The road is dappled in sunlight, and Itachi watches awestruck as Shisui flash-steps across the canopy of trees; it has been months since they've last talked, the tensions between the secret police and ANBU flaring in taut bursts. 

There is the sound of branches breaking, and a multitude of crows burst into the air. Itachi turns; one cold hand falls limply on his shoulder.

He has not changed, and yet he seems older now, and more weary around the eyes. "Hey," Shisui says, and Itachi can hear the hitch in his voice, can feel the subtle increase in pressure of his fingertips on his shoulder. "Do you want to talk?"

 

******

 

Nothing prepared him for this. Guilt and confusion sit heavily at the back of Itachi's throat, and he feels a burning behind his eyes. "I'm sorry," Itachi says, and he realizes it's the first thing he's said to him in months. His voice cracks and there's an unfamiliar ache in his chest, like a hand squeezing around his heart. 

He reminds himself what is at stake, sees in his mind the scorched ruins of the village leveled under the asphalt sky. 

"I'm sorry," Itachi says again, and he turns. "I cannot do this."

"Why?" Shisui says.

Because tomorrow you will be dead, Itachi thinks, but Shisui presses a hand to his arm.

"Don't," Shisui says, and dark eyes flick upward, meeting his. 

 

******

 

There is this: hot mouth on pale skin, lamplight like milk spilling onto the shadowed floor.

Duty and love storm and clash inside him, and Itachi squeezes his eyes. He wants nothing more than to curl up into the spaces of Shisui's body, wants to gather him close and keep him safe from harm. He clings to him like a swimmer drowning, and kissing him and holding him tight. He tells himself there is no tomorrow; there is only this, the feel of his breath pushing up against his skin and the thousand sordid images that he would keep in his mind's eye, years later, when longing and loneliness overwhelm his self-control. 

Shisui is asleep. Silently, Itachi watches the rise and fall of Shisui's breathing, the feel of his body and how perfectly he fits pressed against him. Nothingness looms, and Itachi knows that soon all that he's ever loved will be obliterated in one blinding light. 

But for now, there is only this: Shisui's fingers curled in Itachi's hand, and the dim half-light filtering through the blinds at the window. Tomorrow, the moon will rise, and their shadows will fall like ghosts, darkening the banks of the Nakano.


End file.
